


I Have Blood So Hurt Me

by uistic



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face Slapping, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 09:36:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9999212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uistic/pseuds/uistic
Summary: He knows other things too. Like where Dean will be. Still sweaty, hair a mess, driving Roman up the wall with his after-show jitters as he shimmies and twitches and throws punches at the air rather than getting into the shower like he ought to. Dean, with his obnoxious grin and offensive jokes and low gravelly come-fuck-me voice and the way he spreads his legs in catering when he thinks Seth is watching (which he isn't), his hand sliding towards his crotch, deliberately and provocative, showcasing everything Seth's not allowed to want.And he doesn't want Dean Ambrose. That'd be pathetic and he'snot. That's not what this is and not why he's heading straight for the out-of-the-way locker room where he knows they'll be.They're sitting down, face to face on the low bench, Roman helping Dean remove the tape from his hands. It looks casual and intimate at the same time, sparking another wave of, offury, and it's gratifying to see them jump when he slams the door open, sending it crashing into the wall.Roman looks him up and down. "Is that glitter?"





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from IAMX's "You Stick It In Me".
> 
> This was supposed to be a thousand words worth of light-hearted BDSM porn but it got out of hand. Extremely dubious consent, because it turns out that when I write sex pollen the impaired judgement becomes an issue. Everyone involved likes what's happening while it's happening but Seth regrets it immediately afterwards.

There’s glitter everywhere. In his hair, his beard, sticking to sweaty skin and black latex alike, making him look like a stripper who’s just got off dancing. It's even gotten into his damn nose. Seth sneezes as he stalks through the backstage corridors, looking for someone to murder. 

Goddamned Stardust with his creepy hissing and cosmic bullshit. What kind of an asshole dumps a whole bag of glitter over someone’s head and calls it a gift, like anyone would want to spend hours picking his would-be celestial sparkly- _whatever_ out of their hair?

The match had been a catastrophe from start to finish. Stumbling around, making stupid mistakes for no reasons. His timing had been off, his gear - that normally fit him like a second skin, more comfortable than anything he’d wrestled in before - constricting, and even through the glove Stardust's hands on him had _burned_.

Seth’s downed a whole bottle of water after the match, poured another over his head, ice cold. It still drips from his hair, runs down his back, and the only thing it does is cast the fire under his skin in sharp relief. It's bad timing to be coming down with something. There's another house show tomorrow, then Raw on Monday, and he's scheduled to mainevent both.

He should probably head back to the hotel, but he’s filled with a thrumming need for… something. Some kind of release, a way to ease up the tension that just keeps coiling him tighter and tighter. If Hunter had been around Seth would have gone to him with it, maybe begged for a scene, maybe just pushed and pushed until his mentor lost his temper and pushed back. He has to bite back a little groan at the thought of it, Hunter’s hand around the back of his neck, firm enough to leave bruises, forcing him to duck his head and apologize. Hunter's good when he's angry, and Seth wants anger. He wants to be crushed. _Obliterated_. He can’t remember ever feeling like this before and he doesn’t know what to do with it. Joey and Jamie are too sweet, and Kane’s so goddamned loyal there's no way in hell he’d ever put his hands on Hunter’s property without permission, regardless of what Seth did to provoke him. That leaves him with nowhere to go, no one to fuck with. Except.

_Except_.

Seth has often thought about how quickly habits form and a new place becomes familiar. Second time in an arena everyone already have their favorite spots, and Seth has seen the inside of this particular one three or four times by now. That makes it practically home; crates and concrete, fluorescent light, crowded hallways, busy changing rooms, the relative silence of gorilla and the rambunctious mood in catering. He knows where the Wyatts will be hiding out, where to go to hang with the New Day and around what corner he might find Cena and Nikki being all sweet and domestic.

He knows other things too. Like where Dean will be. Still sweaty, hair a mess, driving Roman up the wall with his after-show jitters as he shimmies and twitches and throws punches at the air rather than getting into the shower like he ought to. Dean, with his obnoxious grin and offensive jokes and low gravelly come-fuck-me voice and the way he spreads his legs in catering when he thinks Seth is watching (which he isn't), his hand sliding towards his crotch, deliberately and provocative, showcasing everything Seth's not allowed to want.

And he doesn't want Dean Ambrose. That'd be pathetic and he's _not_. That's not what this is and not why he's heading straight for the out-of-the-way locker room where he knows they'll be.

They're sitting down, face to face on the low bench, Roman helping Dean remove the tape from his hands. It looks casual and intimate at the same time, sparking another wave of, of _fury_ , and it's gratifying to see them jump when he slams the door open, sending it crashing into the wall.

Roman looks him up and down. "Is that _glitter_?" 

"Fuck you too," Seth snarls. 

Dean comes to his feet, ready to fight, and Seth grabs his shoulders to shove him away but instead he's pulling Dean towards him, mouth against mouth. The shocked sound Dean makes paired with the feel of his lips against Seth's sends a jolt of desire through him, and he realizes he's got an erection straining against the tight latex pants. Dean stiffens, makes a half-hearted effort to push him back.

"The hell, Seth?" Roman grabs him by the arms and _lifts_ him, like he's a child, picking him up and putting him down two steps back without releasing him. Seth had forgotten about that, how effortlessly powerful Roman is.

Dean wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "He's on something."

"No shit." Roman's voice makes all the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "Someone spike your water or what?"

Seth laughs, a little harsh, a little breathless. "Fuck me or fight me, I don't care." He squirms, trying to grind back against Roman. "C'mon. Not like you’ve never fucked someone you hated before. I'll beg for it if that’s what you want, just..."

Dean tilts his head and looks at him a little like Seth's lost his mind and a little like he kind of likes it, and Seth loses track of what he’s saying. Dean's tongue darts out, wetting his lips. Some of the glitter must have rubbed off on him because there’s a flare or dark red that catches the light and is gone. Seth twists in Roman’s grip, swallowing back a moan when the hands tighten around his arms. 

Dean's gaze locks onto him, eyes suddenly darkening. "Go on, then." He steps up close, his voice a low, heated rasp. "Beg."

”Uh.” Roman's grip on Seth's arms falters a little. "Dean, what-?"

Seth's almost close enough to touch, Roman’s restraint a maddening, frustrating pleasure. "Please, Ambrose. I just need - _something_ , we can fight if you want, it doesn’t have to be-"

Dean shoves two fingers into Seth's mouth and Seth chokes off mid-word, sucking on the fingers with an eagerness that surprises even himself. Immediately Dean pulls out and slaps Seth across the face, the wet smacking sound echoing in the room. "Did I tell you to stop begging?"

It brings a surge of desire, hot and all-consuming. " _Please_ Dean-"

Dean pushes in his fingers again and Seth moans, eyes closing in pleasure. If it weren't for Roman holding him up he'd already be down on the floor, his mindless _please please please_ a garbled mess around the fingers in his mouth.

And Roman. _Roman_.

"What the fuck, uce?" He sounds disturbed, but also... not entirely opposed. His thumbs are stroking Seth's arms and when Seth pushes back he can feel Roman's dick pressing against his ass, as hard as his own.

"He wants it so bad, Ro." Dean's voice is all smoke and gravel, compelling Seth to open his eyes to _look_ at him. "Don't you want to fuck him up? Bet we could make him cry. Bet we could make him do all sorts of things. Couldn’t we, Seth?"

Seth nods fervently, his words just noise, spit pooling in his mouth and trickling down his chin. Dean wipes it away with his free hand, tilts his head and looks at his glistening fingers, then shrugs and brings them to his mouth, licking them clean. Seth whines at the sight. Roman's grip turns painful.

"This is insane," Roman says, but it's not a refusal. More like acquiescence. He runs a hand up Seth's arm, all the way to his neck, fingers splayed over his throat, scorching hot and making Seth feel safe and vulnerable at the same time. 

"Yeah," Dean agrees. "Let's get his clothes off. Our poor baby brother's burning up." 

They strip him of his gear surprisingly quickly given that Seth's more invested in keeping their hands on him than helping. His clothes end up discarded in a pile on the floor together with knee pads and boots. Trapped between their bodies, rubbing up against them, he shivers at the feel of their clothes against his naked skin, all coarse fabric and rough seams, studs and zippers that should chafe but doesn’t. When Roman bends Seth's head to suck a bruise to the side of his neck, marking him, Seth’s vision whites out for a moment.

It feels like forgiveness. It feels like making amends. It feels, in a crazy way, like he never left, although what they had was never this, just friendship, just longing, not this frenzied frantic desperation, the way he can't think with their scent in his lungs.

They maneuver him across the room, push him down, the floor hard and unforgiving under his hands and knees. His legs are kicked apart, there's a hand circling his cock and cool fingers tracing the rim of his asshole, and he has never in his life wanted anything as badly as he wants to be fucked. Even the championship pales in comparison, his ambitions insignificant next to this new hunger.

He must have begged again or made a noise or something because the hand around his cock disappears and Dean pulls him up to his knees, kissing his cheeks. "Shh, shh, it's all right, we'll take care of you."

Dean's sitting on the bench, legs spread wide to bracket Seth. When Seth goes for his fly, Dean captures his hands and presses a kiss to his forehead, chaste and sweet and so fucking gentle it _hurts_. Meanwhile, Roman is working him open, lube-slick fingers carefully loosening him up, touching him like he’s something precious when he’s not, he _can’t_ , this isn’t what he came for, and he can’t figure out how to get them to grab him like they mean it, fuck him like they hate him.

"Fuck-" he gasps as Roman finally pushes two fingers inside, no burn, no friction. "God, just- _fuck_ me, Reigns, don't-”

Roman pulls his head back, kisses the bruise he left on his neck. ”Not up to you, princess.” His voice is a low rumble that sends shivers down Seth’s spine. "You want this, you'll take it the way I give it."

There's steel there, something steady and implacable, and Seth can’t believe he’d forgotten about that too, the way Roman can’t be rushed, not with anything. It takes forever until he finally pulls out his fingers and lets his cock sink into Seth, and even when he starts moving his hips he’s still so excruciatingly careful that Seth wants to crawl out of his skin. And Dean, god, Dean won't even let him blow him. Just holds him, strokes his hair while Roman fucks him, murmuring filthy lies into his ear, words like sweet and good and safe, and Seth can’t tell if they're being deliberately cruel or if this is just what they're like, what they've always been like, what he could have had if he hadn't--

But he did, and he doesn't regret it, even as he cracks under the relentless, undeserved kindness, feeling himself splinter into pieces. "I hate you," he gasps as Roman fucks into him, as Dean licks the tears from his face. "I- god, you're- this doesn't-"

"Shh, baby. It's all right, we know." Dean nuzzles against Seth's throat. "We hate you too."

Seth feels fresh tears prickling his eyes and he doesn’t know if it’s from frustration or fury. ”C’mon, please, I need-”

Roman grabs his wrists, pins them to the small of his back. ”You’ll get it, don’t worry." He pulls Seth closer, forcing him to arch his back to accommodate the hold, and Seth groans and leans back against Roman’s shoulder. The burn in his wrists and arms is the best thing he's felt all day. He thinks he'd come in ten seconds flat if someone would just touch his dick. 

Dean stands up and strips, carelessly kicking away his jeans and briefs and tossing the sweaty tank top over his shoulder. He's as hard as Seth, and when he licks his palm and closes his hand around the shaft Seth starts struggling against Roman’s grip anew. ”Dean, let me-"

Dean grins, and there's a sharp edge to it that reminds Seth of steel cages and kendo sticks and ice buckets tipped over his head. "Nah. You get to watch. But if you ask really nicely, maybe I'll come in your face."

"In your dreams, Ambrose."

"Pretty damn often, actually." Dean starts stroking himself, his thumb teasing the head. His hand looks gorgeous around his cock and Seth can’t tear his gaze away, not even when Roman hits that sweet spot that makes his thighs quiver and and his dick jump, smearing precum over his stomach. He wants something in his mouth so badly, and Dean grins at him like he _knows_.

It’s getting harder and harder to think, especially when Roman reaches around and grabs his dick, jerking him off maddeningly slow. He squirms, but there’s nowhere to go, and when he tries to pick up the pace Roman just laughs and moves his hand away.

”Goddamn it, Reigns, just-”

"Always so impatient," Roman chides, and Seth has an almost overpowering urge to slam his head back. 

"You motherfucking son of a-"

Dean tsks and backhands him across the face and Seth- 

\- Seth comes so hard he forgets how to breathe. He has a vague impression of Roman grunting and pulling out, right before Dean comes all over his face and chest, a warm splatter that hits his lips and tastes like fucking heaven on his tongue.

It's not _enough_. The satisfaction flares bright then fades, leaving the same unrelenting need, quickly mounting. He sobs in frustration and the instant Roman releases him to tie off and throw away the used rubber he turns, reaching for Roman's flaccid dick.

"Whoa, hey, no." Roman intercepts his hands. "I'm flattered, but there's no way I'm getting it up again."

"Please, Rome, I just gotta- it's not enough, I have to-"

Roman's eyebrows climb. "Jesus, Seth. What did you _take_?"

Dean laughs, but there's a frustrated edge to it, something just a bit out of control. "Not just him, man."

Seth's whips his head around to see that Dean's already getting hard again. He doesn’t think about it, just scurries over and takes it his dick in his mouth. Dean groans, one hand curling in Seth’s hair. Seth’s given head before and it’s been nice, but it’s never been like this, white-hot pleasure and hunger and need, like he can’t get enough, like ever touch of Dean’s silken skin against the inside of his cheek or the roof of his mouth goes straight to his dick.

Above his head Roman and Dean are arguing, something about seeing the trainers and Dean laughs, a little wild. ”What, and get suspended? Are you crazy? Look, even if we're drugged-" he breaks off with a grunt as Seth's teeth scrape lightly against the side of his cock, pulling at Seth's hair in retaliation "-what's the downside? _Look_ at him. He wants this. We want this. What’s the problem?”

He tugs at Seth’s hair again, drawing tears to Seth's eyes, and the sparks of pleasure makes him moan around Dean's cock.

"Shit, you weren't even kidding when you said 'hurt me'." Dean twists his hand in Seth's hair and pulls him off his dick. ”Were you?"

It takes Seth a moment to remember what the question was. He wipes his face, blinking up at Dean. Then he shakes his head. ”God, you don’t even- I need it, please, please, anything,  _more_ -" 

Dean caresses the side of his face, the gentleness of the gesture at odds with the hand fisted in his hair. "Yeah, I hear you. We'll give you what you need. Right, Ro?"

Whatever reservations Roman might have had seem to have evaporated. He crouches behind Seth, strong hands settling on his back. "That's right. You’ll get what you deserve."

Seth can't tell if it's a threat or a promise. Probably both. He wants it to be both. He's vaguely aware that he should be frightened, because what he _deserves_ from Roman Reigns would put him out of action for weeks, but when they position him on his knees against the bench all he feels is excitement. Dean straddles the bench and places a hand between his shoulders, pushing him down until his chest and cheek and forearms rest against the hard wood. Roman smacks his ass, lighting every nerve in Seth’s body on fire, and the sound seems to reverberate through the room. He bites his hand to stifle the groan.

"Good?” Roman sounds amused, and Seth wants to kill him but not as much as he wants him to hit him again. "Think you can take fifty?”

"Fuck you," Seth growls. "I can take anything you can-"

He's cut short by another smack that makes him gasp and grind against the edge of the bench. "We'll see, won't we?" Roman runs his hand over his stinging ass. "I'd make you count and thank me, but I think you’re too out of it for that. Maybe next time."

He's insulted by the suggestion that he couldn't count to fifty and appalled at the warm, disarming burst of joy at the reference to a next time he doesn't even want. 

"Ready, sweetheart?” Roman says, and it has to be mocking, because there is no way Roman means that. And there is no way Seth will give him the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurts.

He turns and glares at Roman over his shoulder. ”Just fucking do it.”

”Really?" Roman raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "If you’re gonna be like that, I’m not sure I want to play."

If it had been Dean, Seth would have dismissed it as an empty threat. But Roman’s like the rock, steady and implacable, and if he says something, he means it. He’s kinder than Dean, but he's also more ruthless, and when he draws a line it stays. And Seth wants his hands on him. If he backs down he’ll lose what little face he still has. If he doesn’t-

He misses Hunter suddenly, misses the way he makes obedience easy by stripping away every other option until the right choice is the only one that remains. He can’t remember Hunter ever giving him enough rope to hang himself. He’s not interested in Seth’s failures. He rigs the game so that to play is to win, and even when winning means being reduced to a shivering, crying mess on the floor Seth relishes every moment of it, the pain and the triumph.

Roman’s no Hunter. He looks at Seth as if he expects him to make a choice, as if they don’t all know how that tends to go. Seth shivers and turns back, arching his ass towards Roman, trying to convey ’I’m sorry, please hit me’ without words.

It’s a no-go.

”What’s it gonna be, Seth?” Roman asks, running his hand over Seth’s ass. ”Do I spank you? Or are you going back to your locker room to deal with your situation yourself?”

Seth closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the wooden bench. ”Spank me,” he mutters, cheeks flushing.

”I’m sorry, what was that?”

Seth _knows_ the bastard heard him, knows that Dean is grinning like a shark at his embarrassment. He shifts, clenching and unclenching his fists, and raises his head from the bench just high enough to make his voice carry. ”Spank. Me,” he growls through gritted teeth. ”You fucking-”

Dean clamps a hand over his mouth. ”Uh uh. Don’t go ruin it now, you were doing so good.”

It’s probably sick that Seth is thankful towards Dean for saving him from running his mouth. Hunter would have gagged him to prevent it, but this is almost as good. He kisses Dean’s palm as a thank you and Dean rubs a coarse thumb over his cheek; _you’re welcome_.

Roman starts off easy, but it doesn’t take long until Seth's ass is burning and he begins to feel floaty. He nuzzles Dean’s hand, giddy and grateful, and time seems to stretch until nothing exists beyond the sweet _pleasurepain_ raining down on him.

When it’s over they give him a few moments to catch his breath, Roman caressing his ass in soothing circles, before Dean laughs, rubbing his thumb over Seth’s lips. ”God, princess, you’re a mess. Let’s get you into the shower, and then it’s my turn to fuck you.”

Even if Seth could speak - or think, for that matter - there is no way he’d say no to an offer like that.

He wasn’t aware of how gross and filthy he was until the hot water sluices over his skin, washing it all away. Roman pours shampoo in his hands and starts working it into Seth’s hair, and Seth whimpers with pleasure. While Roman’s working on his hair, Dean sinks to his knees and takes Seth's dick into his mouth, right there under the stream of water, giving him a languorous blowjob, devoid of urgency. Seth curls his fingers in Dean’s hair, leaning back against Roman, practically swaying on his feet. 

He’s so fucking high on pleasure and attention that he doesn’t even mind it when Dean sits back on his heels without making him come, wiping his mouth. ”I want to fuck you. All right?”

It takes Seth a few moments to realize that it’s a question he needs to answer. He nods. He’s dizzy, absolutely useless as Roman rinses out the last of the conditioner, kisses his shoulder and turns him around to face him. ”Think you can stay on your feet if I help you?”

Seth’s not sure but he nods anyway, spreading his legs when Dean prods. Two slick fingers slip into him, no prep work needed, and he shudders at how easy it is.

”Shit, Roman, he’s wide open. I swear I could just slide right in.”

It’s… god, it shouldn’t be as hot as it is. He’s never been fucked by two people in the same night, much less in the span of an hour, and the thought of Dean getting sloppy seconds, taking advantage of the work Roman’s already done opening him up - it makes him feel slutty, which in turns sends a sharp lurch of arousal through him. He hides his face against Roman’s shoulder, whimpering as Dean replaces his fingers with his cock. It’s not as smooth a glide as it could have been if they’d prepped a little more, but Seth bites Roman’s tattooed bicep as Dean fills him up, grunting behind him. 

”You’re doing so good,” Roman murmurs, running his fingers through Seth’s wet hair. ”You should hear yourself, the sounds you make.” His hand slides down over Seth’s stomach, coming to rest at the base of his cock. ”Want me to get you off?”

All Seth can manage is a choked off whine, but Roman seems to take that as a yes. His large hand engulfs Seth’s cock, slick with shampoo, and if it’s not the best lubricant in the world it’s far from the worst. Dean comes first, pressing sloppy kisses against his neck and shoulders, and Seth follows. It's slow and sluggish, like his body’s too spent to to put in any more effort, and this time when his knees give way both Dean and Roman are there to ease him down on the floor. There’s a kiss on his shoulder, a hand brushing against his back and then withdrawing. The hot water hits his shoulders and the back of his head, running down his arms and swirling around his knees before it disappears down the drain. A few last specks of glitter sparkle on the wet, white tiles. He blinks the water out of his eyes, trying to summon the strength to get up.

He hears steps retreating and it takes him a moment to connect the dots. When he finally looks up he's alone in the shower. It's like a punch to the gut. He'd thought - well, he hadn't _thought_ , exactly. Panic seizes him when he realizes what he’s done. What if Hunter finds out? What if someone heard? Was the door even locked? Anyone could have walked in. Anyone could have seen him, down on his hands and knees on the floor. His arms and legs feel like lead and he's nauseated from hunger and dehydration.

He feels _used_. Violated, somehow. It’s ridiculous. He’s the one who came to them, practically broke down their door and demanded they fuck him. Unbidden, the memories resurface: of Dean trying to push him away, Roman's confused reluctance. Did he take advantage? He remembers the way he clung to them, pathetic and needy. The things he asked for. How he kept trying to push for more and kept getting turned down. It makes his stomach churn. He’s long since made peace with the kind of man he is and the things he wants, but that doesn’t mean he was ready to let them see. 

They could potentially end his career over this. If they report him. Is it sexual harassment, what he did? Assault? Are they mad at him? He’ll still have to get past them to get to his clothes. He’s alone and naked, his phone is in his bag in the other locker room, and the thought of facing them is unbearable. He sits shivering under the stream until it turns from hot to lukewarm to cold, and then he climbs to his feet and turns off the shower.

They’re still out there. Talking quietly.

He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. They’re not going to hurt him. No one has as much reason to hate him as they have, but they’ve already - god, they’ve already seen him fall apart, what else is there? They’re good people. Nothing like him or Hunter or Orton. They might mock him but they won’t- they wouldn’t touch him, not like this, not right now.

Their conversation ends when he steps into the room, naked and shivering. His clothes are gone. Panic claws at his throat even as he tries to shove it back down. He finds that he can’t bring himself to look up, to meet their eyes.

”You okay?” Roman asks. 

He’s not. He’s cold and scared and there’s static crackling in his ears that say he’s going to pass out soon if he doesn’t sit down. But he’s got a protein shake in his bag and J&J could probably come pick him up once he gets to his phone and either way it’s not their problem and none of their business.

”Fine,” he manages, and his voice hardly shakes at all. ”Where's my things?”

Roman pushes a plastic bag towards him with his foot. ”You don’t want to touch them before you’ve had them cleaned. I don’t know what’s in that glitter, man, but…”

Seth closes his eyes. He doesn’t have to finish that sentence, Seth can do it perfectly well for himself.

A damp towel hits his chest. Dean’s. He can’t quite seem to manage to choke out a ”thank you” as he turns away to dry himself off, then wraps the towel around his waist. With his hands going numb it takes several tries to get it right. There’s a pounding in his ears, a sense of being suffocated by his own body, and he needs to get out of here before he falls down.

"Seth. You sure you’re okay? We didn’t hurt you, did we?"

Seth shakes his head. He's... sure there's a right way to do this, something you're supposed to say to convey _I'm fine_ and _I'm sorry_ and  _please don't tell anyone_ when you've just had semi-public kinky sex with your two worst enemies, but he's drawing a blank. Despite what they must think of him this isn’t actually a thing he does. 

The plastic bag containing his gear is almost too heavy to lift, which is ridiculous for someone who regularly picks up and powerbombs men twice his size. He stumbles. Dean catches his arm.

"Seth. Sit down."

He's too exhausted to flinch. When Dean pushes he surrenders and sinks down on the bench. A bottle is pressed to his lips and he drinks because it's easier than the alternative. It's very sweet, some kind of sports drink. He forces himself to take little sips until it's all gone. At some point, Dean drapes his leather jacket around Seth’s shoulders and Seth would refuse it except he can’t stop shaking and the jacket is heavy and warm and smells just like Dean.

Roman crouches down in front of him, fully dressed. He nudges Seth’s knee, feather light. "Better?"

Seth nods and hands back the bottle. "You don't have to-” he begins, then stops. He even sounds fucked, voice raw like he’s been giving head for hours instead of thirty seconds, tops. There’s a bruise on his knee he doesn’t remember getting, right under the edge of the towel. His heart is jackrabbiting, his breathing too shallow, and he still can’t bring himself to look up and see their expressions. He couldn’t deal with pity. He’s not strong enough for disgust. ”I’m sorry. That was fucked up. I don’t know what- I shouldn’t have- I couldn’t think, but I’ve never, I wouldn’t-”

”Hey.” Dean’s voice is sharp enough to make him flinch. ”Cut the crap, Seth. You’ve done a lot of shitty things, one day I’ll write you a novel, but this? This wasn’t one of them.”

Ironically, it’s the anger in his voice that convinces Seth that they’re not mad at him. Or, well, they are, but not for the reasons he feared. He raises his head slowly. Roman looks concerned, Dean pissed off, and it's absurdly, achingly familiar. He releases a breath together with the tension in his back, letting his shoulders fall. 

”I’ll go get your bag,” Roman says. "You need a ride back to the hotel?”

It’s a really bad idea. Just the thought of what Hunter would say gives him a cold sweat. At the same time, he’s acutely aware that this is an offer he’ll never get again, an unexpected olive branch, and he’s not certain he’s entitled to say no to anything right about now.

”Well.” Roman pats his knee as he rises. ”You think about it, all right?”

It’s his reassuring dad voice, and six months ago Seth would have caught Dean’s eyes over his shoulder and they’d have traded amused and exasperated looks, but that might as well be a lifetime away. Seth nods mutely, then watches the door fall shut behind him and listens to his steps retreating down the corridor. If Roman's feet against the floor carries that clearly through the closed door, he shudders to think of who might have heard the noises the three of them made. ”I’m so fucked."

Dean snorts in amusement. He leans back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Seth wonders inanely how many near identical pairs of jeans Dean owns, and without meaning to his eyes travel to the bulge at Dean’s crotch and damn if his heartbeat doesn’t pick up just a little.

”Really, Seth?” Dean says, incredulous. ”Getting fucked twice is not enough for you? What would we have to do, keep you on edge for hours before we let you come?"

Seth groans and hides his face in his hands, and it has the added benefit of hiding just how good that mocking suggestion sounds. He’ll never live this down, he realizes. Every single time Dean will want to get a rise out of him or get under his skin, he’ll just make a reference to this. And it’s… not as horrible as it could be, actually. Because there’s no malice in Dean’s voice, no actual derision to the mockery. For the first time it occurs to Seth that Dean and Roman were right there with him. They could have kicked him out, walked away, hell, called security. They didn’t.

When Roman returns with his bag, he digs out the protein shake and downs it in a few large gulps before getting dressed. He checks his phone and finds no missed calls, just a text from Hunter, a terse "Call me"sent right after the match that makes his insides twist. He won, but it was a near thing, and it shouldn’t have been. He should have killed it.

”Bad news?” Dean says.

Seth shakes his head, shoving the phone into his pocket. ”Fans being weird.”

”You mean you still have those?”

Seth flips Dean off and it’s almost like it used to be, close enough, at least, that he can pretend that there’s no suit in his bag, no Authority-merch, and that the pale, faded scar on Roman’s back isn’t of his making.

Roman shoulders his bag. ”We should probably head out before they lock down the place. You riding with us?”

Seth hesitates. It’s not really forgiveness and if it were, he wouldn’t take it. He’ll still got to get up to fight them in the morning, still eviscerate them in his promos if Hunter tells him to, and he knows they’ll do the same to him. But it is something.

”Sure,” he says, like it’s that simple. ”Yeah. Thank you.”

Hell, maybe it is.


End file.
